


Father and son

by Stark616



Category: Captain America (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Breaking Up & Making Up, Crying, Established Relationship, Father Figures, Father-Son Relationship, Fix-It, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, M/M, Parent Yondu Udonta, Past Character Death, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Protective Steve, Ravager Family, Spoilers, Tony Angst, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Young Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 20:07:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11192502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stark616/pseuds/Stark616
Summary: Yondu was always Peter's dad.Howard was always Tony's dad.They just never quite knew how to express that.





	Father and son

**Author's Note:**

> A tragic tale of father figures and sons.

The first time Peter had referred to him as something other than ‘Yondu’ was when they’d gone to the store to buy clothes. First of all, buying instead of stealing wasn't something they did often—but after an hour of Kraglin  _ insisting _ that the boy would be better off with clothes that hadn’t cost them any blood, the blue man found himself giving in. Peter was only 10 then. 

 

“Ya need somethin’ simple, so don’ go lookin’ for somethin’ all shiny and expensive,” he warned as he watched the young boy wander from aisle to aisle full of jackets, shirts, and shoes. “We might not be stealin’ but we still have to keep under budget, boy.” 

 

Peter, still in awe of being in a store without having to hide in an air vent or under in the basement with a gun, only nodded and walked around some more. He should have hit him over the head because of how stupid he looked. No kid should have been so excited for a bright, multicolored store filled with strange looking aliens,  _ especially _ when they were only there to buy clothing. Yondu might now know lots about Earth, but he knows there aren't much children that enjoy shopping there. 

 

“Let ‘em pick out what he wants,” Kraglin said with a grin, arms crossed. “S’not like we're gonna be doing this again.” 

 

That was true. Because after having to fly out so far and trying to find some sort of parking for their giant -ass ship, he was just about ready to blow the building to pieces. If they ever  _ we're _ to do this ever again, it would be  _ his  _ way.  

 

"He's already got a jacket," Yondu mutters, motioning to the oversized ravager coat hanging off of the young boy's shoulders. "An' those shoes are brand new." 

 

"Just 'cuz we stole 'em a few days ago don't mean they're brand new," Kraglin said with a chuckle.  

Yondu rolled his eyes. Everything they had on was stolen. From t-shirts to underwear. It ain't like Peter's going to be leaving anytime soon anyway, so why get him accustomed to  _ buying _ things? Come to think of it, most of what the boy wears is five sizes larger than it should be. Not that it matters—having to unhook Peter from a door or chair is fucking hilarious.  

 

"Remember cap'n," the younger man said, interrupting him from his thoughts. He nods to Peter, who's already running towards them with a bundle in his arms. "S'just this once." 

 

Despite wanting to grab the other man by the ear and haul him back to the ship for talking to him like a damn nanny, Yondu settles for kicking him in the shin and watching in delight as he falls to the ground in pain. Before he can kick him again—Quill tugs the bottom of Yondu's jacket.  

 

"I found something," Peter says, fingers itching in what seems to be  _ more _ excitement. He has the same look on his face as that time when the blue man first asked him to help him fix the ship. It  _ should _ have been boring as hell. No one, not even himself, likes to fix anything. So when the boy immediately said yes and practically shook as he walked through the corridor— Yondu was convinced the younging had gone insane or something.  

 

"What'cha got?" He asked slowly, eyeing what he  _ could _ see on the surface of the boy's arms. So far there was only what looked to be like a pair of shorts and an oversized sweater. 

 

Peter beamed. "Uh, well I found this," he held out the shorts. They were a dark shade of blue, with small star prints plastered all over them. If the kid hadn't looked so happy, the man would have burst out laughing. "I also found this." He moved the shorts aside and pulled out the too-large sweater, a lighter shade of blue with a zipper running down the middle.  "And," he continued, struggling to pull out the last thing he was holding. "—this." A jacket. A denim, patched up jacket covered in multiples types of cloth. It looked as ridiculous as the shorts and he was pretty damn sure that the other members of the crew wouldn't take seeing Peter in it too well.  

 

"The kid sure does got some style," Kraglin said from beside him, already up as if nothing had happened. The older man huffed and turned towards him to see if he could catch any bit of disapproval. All he could see in the other's eyes was  _ something  _ genuine, but it sure as hell wasn't disgust.  

 

He could easily just have said no. Everything in the boy's arms would get him laughed at. But Peter's a tough one—that's for sure, so maybe the kid wouldn't mind a bit of teasing too much.  

 

"I'll only get 'em for ya if ya promise to do your work  _ without _ any damn whining," he starts. He might as well kill two bird with one stone. " _ And _ if ya promise not to touch my arrow without my permission, boy. You gotta promise or I ain't buyin' you anythin'." 

 

The kid immediately grinned, nodding so much that Yondu had to grab a hold of his hair so that he would stop. "I promise!" Peter said through grit teeth, wincing as the man let go of his locks. Baby blue eyes met light red and the centaurian looked away in discomfort—  _ not  _ because the kid was ugly to look at, the kid was pretty cute for a terran— but because those blue eyes were filled with the most hope Yondu had ever seen.  _ All this for some damn clothes _ , he thought and held out his arms so that Peter could dump everything in them,  _ least he ain't cryin'.  _

 

The ten-year-old carefully places the three outfits in his arms and walks by his side to the register. It must be the same as terran stores, because Peter's eyes beam even brighter when they walk up to the pretty lady at the counter who’s already greeting with a stupid  _ 'Hello, how are you?' _

 

Neither Peter or Yondu respond, earning them both a flick in the shoulder from Kraglin who quickly apologizes to the young girl. As she rings them up, the captain looks down to find Peter watching attentively. He must have not gone around much on Earth. From what he heard, his mother was sick way before she had actually died. So going around shopping must have been rare.  

 

The thought makes him uneasy.  

 

"Here you go," the lady says as she hands Peter the bag. "Have a nice day." 

 

"Thank you," Peter says quietly. The boy doesn't bother look up at her, instead he focuses on the bag filled with clothes.  

 

When they're just about through the door, a footstep away from being outside, Yondu hears it but doesn't believe it. It’s so quiet that at first he had thought of it as a cough. 

 

_ "Thanks, dad." _

During the ride back, Kraglin’s pretty sure the shine in his captain’s eyes ain’t because of the  _ damn sun _ . After all, they were too far from Terra to even witness such star (and everyone on the ship would be blind if they did happen to look at the shining ball of light).

 

 

 

And for the whole next seven days, Peter wears everything. The shorts, over-sized sweater, and denim jacket even though none of them match together. He gets laughed and hollered at a couple of times but Yondu makes sure to give whoever does a piece of his mind afterwards. Peter keeps his word, surprisingly, even waking up early so that he can finish his chores and have extra time to lay on his bed and stare into the mirror.  

 

"Should I be worried 'bout that?" He asks, watching amused as the boy wraps the jacket around his waist.  

 

Kraglin, smiling wide from cheek to cheek, shrugs. "I don' think so. He sure does look happy."

 

“ _ Too _ happy if ya ask me.”

 

The first mate grin grows and he lets himself lean against the wall, right as the young boy runs away the mirror and to the blue man. Ravagers are family to begin with, but Peter and Yondu? They’re something else. He’ll be damned if he lets anything happen to either of them.

 

“Pete, ya got those shorts on backwards.”

 

Kraglin’s focus snaps back when he hears the terran laugh. Sure enough, the star-spangled shorts are facing the wrong way. He expects Yondu to let the kid do it himself. But no, the centaurian kneels down on one knee, eyes squinting as he mutters gibberish under his breath. His hands, shaking slightly, reach out for the boy and slowly fix the pair of shorts until they’re facing the right way again. It’s all too much for the first mate to take at once. 

 

“Krags,” Peter mumbled from beside him, clearly confused. “Why are you makin’ that weird face? Do you have to poop?”

 

It shouldn’t have been funny and Kraglin shouldn’t have been covering his face to hide his snort/whine. Yondu yanks his hand away so that he can look at his face, eyes narrowing as he studies the younger man’s expression. He must have found something because the next thing he knows, he’s being pulled into a violent side hug, or in what at least  _ appears  _ to be some sort of hug. 

 

“C’mon you two,” Yondu chuckles, voice as harsh and raspy as ever, into his ear. Somehow, to Kraglin it sounds softer. “Let’s go get some of them drinks they were sellin’ at that place near Xandar, heard they’re mighty tasty.”

 

“We gon’ steal ‘em?” Kraglin asks, too hopeful for only a moment— just enough for the centaurian to notice. 

 

Yondu grins, “Sure are, Kraglin. We sure are.”

 

“Yes!” Peter pumps his fists, then proceeding to yank at both of their hands. “What are we waiting for then? I can go show of my new stuff!!”

 

“Easy boy,” Yondu responds as he squeezes the softer, smaller hand in his to control the babbling ten-year-old. “We can’t have ya passing out on us from all your damn excitement, don’ want the other ravagers to have a fit, do we?”

 

The question lingers in the air for a couple of seconds before Peter nods slightly, still bouncing on the bottoms of his two feet. Yondu might not be ‘soft’ but he ain’t cruel enough to tell the boy again to calm the frick down. It’s not everyday that Peter ain’t being a pain in the ass or acting like teen (even though he isn’t just yet). 

 

 

 

Two weeks after they get a stomach ache from all the drinks they stole, Peter calls Yondu  _ dad _ again. No one dares comment on it, not even when the boy had said outloud in front of everyone— including the roughest, toughest and largest ravagers on the ship. Yondu doesn’t seem to be affected by it, but Kraglin knows better than to judge his captain by what he says— especially when one day, Yondu tells the kid to stop his  _ nonsense _ . The constant hair-ruffling, pats on the back and stories the centaurian mumbles to the young terran so that he can fall asleep are proof that for once in his life, Yondu doesn’t mind. He doesn't mind being called such an emotion-filled, affectionate word or that it comes as naturally as breathing to Peter Jason Quill. He’s their kid now, whether they like it or not. Ego will never be the father the terran deserves and his poor mommy’s dead because of that damn bastard. So Kraglin along with Yondu and everyone else on their huge-ass ship are going to make sure that Peter gets the best, but  _ not _ the most perfect (because ravagers ain’t perfect, no matter how hard they try) family in the whole galaxy. 

 

They teach the kid to live, to  _ love _ somehow, and to fight with all he’s got in his weak (but strong) terran body. The kid grows much too fast  _ ‘like a fuckin’ weed _ ’, Yondu had said when (after only a year) they crashed their ship in the department store and stole all the clothes in size 14 that they could. Peter complains, sure, but they all know that he doesn't mean it. That he doesn’t mean it when he says that he rather be dead sometimes, and they know that Quill knows that neither of them means it when they say that he isn’t a ravager. The kid became a ravager the second he stepped foot into their lives. 

 

The kid keeps growin’ like a weed. Grows just as tall as Yondu, Kraglin, and then as tall as the giant bunk-bed in their shared quarters. He moves from a size 14 to a size 18 in only a couple of months and Krags finds himself feeling  _ proud _ when they go on missions because all eyes turn to look at  _ their  _ boy,  _ Yondu’s _ boy in wonder. He might be a ravager and a good-for-nothin’ thief to everyone, but he might as well be a fucking hero. The teen (cause’ he sure isn't a kid anymore) has got some balls. 

 

They don’t let just anyone see Peter. Most of the ravagers might like hot chicks and sultry-looking bimbos offering a good time, but with the teen it’s different (just like it’s always been). 

 

One day Peter brings home a pink-skinned girl. Yondu, being as stubborn as he is, takes one look at her and whistles. He doesn’t kill her, only cause she looked  _ too pink,  _ Yondu had said, but he whistles just enough that the girl goes running back towards her own ship. 

 

Peter doesn’t come out of his room for three hours before he forgives his old man and goes on a mission with them to Xandar. 

 

 

 

About a month later, Peter brings home a dude. Kraglin ain’t sure about how things are on Terra but the minute the teen walks in with the young Xandarian, he looks mighty terrified.

 

“Who hell is this, boy?” Yondu asks, gaze simmering on the other teen. 

 

The guy didn’t look to bad; black curled hair, green eyes, and white, milky skin made him look fit enough to be a gentleman. 

 

“Ajax,” the blonde teen responds. His shaking form quivers as he smiles softly. Yondu doesn’t buy it. 

 

He strides up to the pair, boots  _ thumping _ hard on the metal floor and fin glowing red in an attempt to get whatever the young ravager was hiding out of him. 

 

“Wha’s wrong with ya?” Yondu sneers in Peter’s face. Behind the anger and piercing red eyes, Kraglin can tell there’s some sort of worry. “You look like you’ve seen a damn ghost.”

 

“You’re not angry?” Peter asks quickly,  _ too _ quickly. His voice raises at the end, faltering on a slight crack. 

 

The centaurian frowns, fin turning a lighter shade of red. “The only reason I got to be mad is cause you won’t tell me what’s fucking wrong with ya,” he says. “So you better tell me why you’re so jumpy.”

 

“He’s a  _ dude, _ ” Peter says slowly in something akin to disbelief. “You’re totally okay with him being a  _ dude. _ ”

 

Ajax coughs beside Peter, looking just as confused as the blue man standing in front of them. In space, but  _ probably _ not on Terra (so it seems) no one really cares about who you’re with or who the fuck you decide to ‘love’. Everyone’s always too busy to care anyway, so why at all give a fuck? Kraglin’s never thought of two people of the same gender being together as strange. To him, if there was to be love and care involved, things didn't matter. 

 

“As long as they ain’t a livin’ bomb, I’m fine with them bein’ a dude  _ or _ a chick,” Yondu grumbles as he reaches out and clasps the two teens on the shoulder. “You two better get goin’ on that date of yours, cause we spent enough time as it is talking about shit,” he continues with a smirk. The centaurian ushers Ajax out first so that he can talk to Quill in private. 

 

Peter, thankfully, doesn’t seem so terrified anymore. Not even when Yondu shoves him into the nearest room and slams the door shut. 

 

“Sure you wanna date him, son?” Yondu asks him, picking at his teeth with his finger. “Ain’t another pretty boy that caught your attention?”

 

Peter flushes a dark shade of crimson. “Uh, nope. I’m pretty sure I want to date just this guy for now.”

 

“Well go ahead then,” Yondu says with a shrug, pulling the terran in for a short embrace. “Go get ‘im.”

 

“Thanks,” Peter whispers and leans in just a bit onto the blue man before being shoved towards the door. 

 

“You’s better get here before lunch though, cause we’ve got a whole planet to steal from. We ain’t waitin’ on ya if you take too long.”

 

The teen winces. “Yup, I’ll make sure to remember that.”

 

They walk out together and before Peter heads for the garage, he looks at Yondu and smirks. 

 

“Thanks, old man.”

 

Yondu laughs and grins as he whistles towards the entrance. “Anytime, boy. Anytime.”

 

 

 

That’s the last they hear of Ajax. Apparently, he was a complete jerk — but not enough for Peter to let Yondu kill him. The teen doesn’t bring anyone back to the ship after that. He ain’t got the time anyway. 

 

Years later, Peter runs away and does become a hero to all. The people of Xandar adore him and practically everyone in space knows his name. They also happen to know who his daddy is, which makes killing people and stealing just a bit harder for the centaurian. And then just a while later, Yondu’s boy saves the galaxy again and the ravagers betray each other.

 

Ego finds Peter, dies, and then Yondu does as well. 

 

“I guess David Hasselhoff kind of did end up being my dad after all,” Peter said as tears simmered upon his eyelashes. He paused for only a second and added: “And it was you, Yondu.”

 

Kraglin had cried his eyes out that night. He was part of the guardian family too now, but he would never  _ not _ be a ravager. Yondu would always be his captain, and he would always be his. The arrow was passed down to him and he devoted his life to mastering Yondu’s skills. 

 

Peter doesn’t recover after a while. It takes him at least 2 months before he stops locking himself in his room and listening to music for hours on end. He starts sitting with them to eat again, dancing around the halls and humming along with Rocket as they fix something on the Milano. The rest of the guardians give him his space. They’ve all lost, so he’s heard, so he understands why they let up with Quill so easily. 

 

 

 

“Someone’s been shooting’ down ships for no reason,” the ‘raccoon’ explains, paws pointing to the large screen. “Killed about 1,000 people, including kids.”

 

“That’s not nice,” Mantis gasps as she covers her mouth with her palm.

 

Rocket rolls his eyes. “Sure ain’t. We’ve got to do soemthin’ about it.”

 

“Of course we do,” Peter says determinedly. He sets down his Zune and frowns. “Where’s this happening?”

 

“Just a couple of jumps away from Xandar.”

 

“Well then, we better get going,” the blonde exclaims and plops himself in the pilot’s seat beside the small mammal. 

 

Kraglin nods and sits down himself as they take off. He watches Peter’s expressions, they way he breaks out in laughter at one of Drax’s dull jokes and the way he smiles fondly at Gamora. Yondu would definitely be happy to see his boy like this again. 

 

_ Keep an eye on ‘im for me, alright? _

 

Kraglin blinks and looks around. There’s no one but them. His heart and throat tighten. “I sure will, cap'n,” he whispers and bangs his chest in a salute.  _ “I sure as hell will.” _

 

And he sure as hell does because Peter was theirs, after all. Peter was their boy, he was  _ Yondu’s  _ boy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Howard Stark loved his son, he really did. But affection was never his thing. 

 

When he was on the verge of death, seconds before he groaned Maria’s name — he thought back to the young teen, probably slobbering all over their white couch or working on something in the kitchen, his things scattered across the dining table.  _ You were never a father, _ he thought and sobbed.  _ The only thing you were was an asshole. _

 

Before he could reach his wife or cry out Tony’s name instead, he was pulled out of his car and hit over the head.

 

He dies instantly with his son’s face lingering behind his eyes. Eighteen years later, he comes back.

 

“Tell me one reason why I shouldn’t punch you in the face, Rogers,” his son growls. The man, no longer the witty and bright-eyed teen he was used to, buries his hands in Captain America’s shirt and pulls until they’re both face to face. “Tell me  _ one _ good reason,” he continues. “I just need one.”

 

Steve Rogers doesn’t do as much as flinch. His blue eyes narrow, shoulders rolling back as he leans towards Tony. “You know why,” he says softly and Tony’s the one to flinch back, being stopped by the blond grabbing his wrist. 

 

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking abo-”

 

Steve chuckles. “Yes you do, Tony. Don’t act like you don’t.”

 

“I’m just following in your footsteps,” the other man hisses. He tugs at the hand on his wrist only to have the grip tighten to a point of pain. “When you tried to kill me with your shield, you acted like it didn't matter, didn’t you? That our,” he stops and swallows the lump in his throat with a wince. “ _ Love _ didn’t matter anymore.”

 

Somewhere, probably in hell,  where Howard is witnessing everything the light grows dimmer and he feels whatever heart he has left stop. Tony must mean  _ love _ as in friendship. There is no way that his son ended up being a — a  _ homosexual.  _ Both him and Maria made sure to raise the boy right. . .other than their constant  _ misunderstandings  _ that is. A couple of blows to the head or arms and harsh rejections as a child can’t lead to one man loving another. If he could yell or speak, he would tell Anthony to stop being ridiculous. 

 

“I still love you,” the soldier breaths after a long pause of silence. “I love you so damn  _ much _ , Tony. That’s why I’m here. Don’t you understand?”

 

Tony scoffs but the faint flush to his cheeks makes it obvious that the words said by Steve had the right effect. “I don’t understand anything about you. First ‘ _ loving’ _ me, then trying to kill me and  _ then _ coming back here after  _ months _ of nothing but one goddamn letter and telling me you love me again — who the fuck  _ does  _ that, Rogers?”

 

“Me, apparently,” Steve whispers and releases Tony’s wrist. Pain cannot describe what Howard sees in the blonde's eyes. Perhaps it  _ is _ love, but he wouldn’t know. Love was also never his thing and never had he experienced it other than when it came to Anthony. 

 

 

_ “Light of my life,” he whispered slowly. The child was fast asleep, looking dead at how blank it’s face reflected the night. The baby would never now. It would never remember anything at only two months.  _

 

_ “I’m going to make you suffer,” he admitted. “I can promise you that.” Did he want the child to go through pain? Not exactly. But he knew deep inside that he wouldn’t be able to control himself. He was born to cause pain when born with  _ **_war_ ** **.** _ No one can stop a person with war running through their veins _ —  _ Howard just happens to be one of them.  _

 

_ He sighed, brushed his finger against the child’s cheek, and then continued. “You were not born with war in your blood. However, there will be times when I will act like you were. Where I will force you to believe that war and pain is all you deserve, sweet thing.” _

 

_ The child fidgeted and whined. It’s brown, delicate curls bounced slightly as it turned away from the adult in discomfort. So innocent and vulnerable. _

 

_ “That is why I can’t forgive myself for what I will do to you,” Howard rasps. “And that is why after this, I will never ever repeat these words. You are the one who must realize my purpose and my true attentions.” _

 

_ There are tears running down his cheeks now. Fresh and scorching like the taste of whisky on this tongue. Some might say it was the alcohol that made him do such things. But it had always been the war. The war and only the war. After all, Howard Stark was born with war in his blood and brain.  _

 

_ He sobbed, “I am truly sorry, light of my life.”  _

 

_ The child did not move. _

 

_ “You were born with  _ **_war_ ** _ as your father.” _

 

 

 

Back in 2017, Tony does not speak. He mouths wordlessly and chasses down America’s golden boy with a cry.  _ This must be love _ , Howard think as he watches the two yell back and forth. They’re both red in the face, fists curled with promises of pain in each hand. Neither of them must know that the one who shaped them both is watching.  _ If only they knew. _

 

“I don’t love you anymore,” Tony screams and Howard feels his heart stop again. That’s the one phrase that even he himself never dared to say. Suddenly, despite not having anything to do with what was going on, he felt unbelievably guilty.  _ Too _ guilty for someone who had been dead for decades. This was his son, the one he had shaped into being rebellious and demanding — someone who would cause  _ pain  _ and suffering. Instead of doing just that, his son seemed to be doing everything on his own body and brain. 

 

_ Love him _ , he wants to yell. There was never pain in Stever Rogers’ eyes. It was  _ love _ , dammit.

 

“You don’t mean that,” the soldier croaks. His hands shakingly firm reach for the smaller man in an act of forgiveness.

 

“I mean it will all my messed up heart,” Anthony spits back. And with that, Howard snaps. Hell gets brighter and in that moment he realizes that he can no longer cause pain and war —  he’s  _ dead _ after all and someone who is dead cannot have anything running through their veins.

 

“ _ Love him!!” _

 

Both men look up and startle at what they see: nothing. Howard yanks at his restrains, the ability not to be seen and yells the same thing again. Hell somehow approves of him.

 

“ _ Son, don’t do this to yourself.” _

 

Tony, already stiff and flush, stands frozen in his place. “Dad?” He asks.

 

Oh god. That word shouldn't make him ache. 

 

“ _ Yes, Anthony. Listen to me, both of you. You are meant to be.” _

 

“ —  _ give each other time,”  _ he continues. It’s one thing they will definitely need. “ _ And forgive, please. For me.”  _ For eachother is what he should have said. But inspiration was also something he was never quite good at. That he isn’t sure of, but it seems to be the right thing to say. Steve could be treating Tony like garbage and Anthony could be doing the same thing — at the moment the thought does not cross his mind furthermore.  _ “Learn to love like I did. _ ”

  

“Who the hell did you love?” Tony asks, moving towards the wall even though there is nothing there but white, chipped paint and a crumbled blue print. 

 

Howard feels himself be lifted. Hell takes a lighter turn. “ _ You.” _

 

Tony stops in his tracks.

 

“ _ I loved you, son. I still do.” _

 

“Dad?” Anthony croaks. The last thing he expects is for his son to punch through the wall. The light blinding Howard's vision increases. “ _ Dad!” _

 

Steve is by Tony’s side in seconds. The smaller man sobs and lets himself be taken, leaning onto the super soldier's arm and letting out a ear-wrecking cry. Howard knows he should continue— that he should  _ explain _ everything, but he can’t find the heart to do so (quite literally). Being dead does not have its perks. 

 

He’s never watched Tony break before, especially so up close. He can almost touch the man’s face, feel the ripple of skin in his dark soul. Howard felt numb at the next sob that his son let out. Tony’s fingers were now curled in Steve’s shirt in sorrow. Slowly, the dead soul let itself submit to the eary surrounding around him. The devil himself must have called for every other catastrophic soul trapped in the black, bright abyss. He had done enough. At least more than he ever had done when he was still alive. Tony would be fine. After all, he didn’t believe he was a child of war and pain anymore. He has Steve Rogers to love and cherish. He has the family he never had growing up— the one that Howard and Maria could never give him. 

 

Anthony Edward Stark isn’t like his father.

 

He isn’t like his dad.

 

“ _ I love you,” _ he says on last time before the darkness consumes him. His son will be alright. Just before he’s taken he’s positive he hears an ‘ _ I love you too’ _ . 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos, comments, and requests are loved and cherished.


End file.
